Our Monster
by secretmonkey
Summary: Danny and Carmilla have a conversation the night before she's taken away by the Baron.


It's been eating away at Dannie for a while now, for way longer than she likes to think about, probably since the moment Carmilla _didn't_ rip out her spine. Or maybe from the moment Laura let her down gently. Or when she watched Carmilla dive into the pit to save them all

(to save _Laura_ )

or maybe one of a dozen other moments when none of this has added up. When none of what she thought she knew was actually what she _knew_.

It gnaws at her at night. Like the princess with the pea, except this time the pea's not under the mattress, it's in her brain, nestled deep in there where she can't dig it out. Sometimes - _most_ times - it's still. It just sits there. And then she shifts just right

(metaphorically speaking)

and it moves. It wiggles, it jiggles, it pokes her until she can't stay still and she's almost driven to stupidity

(raiding the Dean's old liquor cabinet)

(asking LaF for some kind of experimental sci-magic fix)

(finding Kirsch and... no... she won't even go _there_ )

and if she can't find a way to deal with it, if she can't find a way to pop that little pea free and get back to normal - or whatever the hell passes for normal when you live just a few feet from a demonic anglerfish - she's quite sure she's going to lose her mind.

Which is how - and why - she ends up here. Standing on Laura's side of the yellow tape and watching Carmilla sleep.

And yes, Danny's perfectly aware of how wrong and creepy and wrong and weird

(and did she mention _wrong_?)

that is. But she's got nowhere else to go, no one else to ask. No one else she _knows_ won't lie to her just because it would make her feel better.

Besides, it's all Carmilla's fault anyway. She's the one who had to play hero. She was the one who had to save the day.

She was the one who couldn't just be evil and be done with it.

It started back then, when the stupid useless vampire turned out to be not so stupid and very much not useless. And, it's only gotten worse, Danny's noticed, since they won. Since they - along with the Baron - beat Mattie and sent her screaming and fleeing to parts unknown

(though Danny's mostly sure those parts will be very known sooner or later)

and since they beat back the evil and saved the campus.

She doesn't like to acknowledge it - doesn't even like to _think_ about it - but it's gotten _so_ much worse

(like a thousand times worse)

since the Baron pledged to detain the vampires.

Not that she cares about them. This isn't about them.

This isn't about _her._

(if she keeps telling herself that, maybe she'll eventually believe it.)

The disappearance of the trolls didn't help either. Or the announcement of security checks for the non-human students. Or even the free pie days.

(Especially the pie.)

(Danny doesn't trust free pie. No one just _gives away_ pie.)

But it's that detention idea she keeps coming back to. It's the way the Baron just said it. So matter-of-fact, like it wasn't a sudden inspiration, wasn't a heat of the moment outburst, wasn't just a demonstration of new found power from a man who'd been powerless so very long.

Danny does everything she can to rationalize it. It's just detention. It's not killing. No one's said anything about staking them all and using their ashes to fill in the anglerfish pit

(yet)

and it's logical. Eminently logical. The Dean was a vamp. Mattie's a vamp. Every bad thing that's happened in the last few months can be traced - almost directly - to a vampire.

Of course, so can the one good thing. The _best_ thing. The thing that saved them all

(if only for a moment)

and Danny, try as she might

(and she tries so _damn_ hard)

can't forget that.

So she listens when Laura says that yes, it sucks. And yes, the trolls and the security checks and the vampire detentions are worrisome. Problematic.

Troubling, even.

But it's the lesser of two evils, Laura says

(and Danny can't help wondering if Laura's been pod-personed, or worse)

and most of the vampires - _most_ \- are dangerous, especially now that their leader has bailed.

Nature, LaF reminds them, abhors a vacuum, And that's what Mattie's abrupt departure has left them with. A vampire power vacuum that any one of the dozen or so remaining vamps might jump at the chance to fill.

(Well. Maybe not _any_ one.)

(And see? _This_ is the problem. She's giving Carmilla the benefit of the doubt.)

(Maybe she's been pod-personed too.)

And Laura always nods, always agrees, always stresses the whole non-killing side of the plan and says that yes, it's not ideal but it's a precaution

(like bear spray)

and precautions are good and she's sure - _sure_ \- that once the Baron knows they're not a threat, he'll let them all go. Once he sees that, _someone's_ protestations to the contrary

(insert pointed stare at seemingly non-heroic vampire here)

they're not all so bad, the Baron will certainly let them go.

Danny listens. She nods. She goes along with it.

And she doesn't believe a single word.

But she doesn't know what to do about that. Not even the tiniest bit. .

So she follows Laura's lead, just as she always does. She chalks it up to a minor inconvenience, the price they have to pay for saving the student body from Mattie and Corvae, and when the Baron's men come in the morning

(he gave Carmilla another day of freedom in recognition of her previous acts of... _less_ evil)

Laura and Danny and LaF and Perry and even Kirsch will simply stand by and do nothing. They won't try to stop them, they won't put up a fight, there won't even be a strongly worded rebuke on SNN.

We won, Laura keeps saying. The student body's bodies are saved, Mattie's gone, the trolls are vanquished and the corporation is bugging out.

The Baron is in charge.

The King is dead. Long live the King.

And Danny believes her. Danny _wants_ to believe her. Carmilla being detained? Laura starting to see her for what she truly is?

Danny should feel like she's died and gone to heaven.

So why the hell is she standing just outside that yellow tape watching Carmilla sleep?

"Laura's not here," Carmilla mumbles, her words the first indication she's even aware of Danny's presence. "So you can take a few giant steps that way and leave."

She points in the general direction of the door, not even bothering to roll over.

"I'm not here for Laura," Danny says, not moving so much as an inch and not even bothering to roll her eyes at Carmilla's laziness. She may not like the vampire, but she's gotten… accustomed to her.

Carmilla pops her head up, cocking it back just a bit in Danny's direction. "You're _always_ here for Laura," she says, unable to hide the slight rippling undercurrent of jealousy and annoyance

(and threat)

in her voice.

Call it kindness or thoughtfulness or just politeness, but Danny's just _something_ enough not to gloat, not to take even a small sense of victory over that twinge of jealousy Carmilla's clearly feeling.

It could be _any_ of those. Or it could just be plain old logic.

Danny's smart enough to know that tough times or not, broken up or not?

Laura's choice is still the same. And it isn't her.

"I need to talk to _you_ ," Danny says and the words are almost painful coming out but that pea is wiggling around now in her brain, burrowing deeper and deeper inside

(and only at Silas could Danny have to pause, for just a moment, and wonder if maybe there really _is_ something in her brain)

"I need to ask you something," she says.

Carmilla sighs against her pillow - a long, overly drawn out, overly deep, overly dramatic reminder that she has absolutely no use for Danny - and then rolls over, her legs swinging off the chair, feet hitting the floor and she grunts.

"Fine," she says. "Since I know you won't go away until you ask and since I know Laura would be a bit… put out… if I killed you… ask." The vampire stretches her arms over her head, trying to work out the kinks in her muscles from sleeping on the damn chair.

Even vampires can miss the creature comforts of a proper bed.

"But be quick," she says, eyeing Danny through the tape. "I'm being detained in the morning in case you forgot."

Danny hasn't forgotten, not for a single second and _that_ , she finally figures out, is why she's here now. Why that pea finally drove her to do something.

It might be her last chance.

"You're not running," she says, finally, and from the way Carmilla's head snaps up, Danny knows she has her attention.

There's a long pause as Carmilla's tips her head back and forth, letting it loll from side to side as she loosens up.

"That's not a question," she says, pointing out the obvious.

"Your sister ran," Danny says. "Mattie's gone, every vampire with any real power has retreated to the woods or farther."

"Very observant, Xena," Carmilla says, standing slowly from the chair. "But still not a question."

Danny takes a step closer to the tape, wondering - not for the first time - how anyone as smart and brave and mature beyond her years as Laura could have gone for something so patently childish.

"You know it's not just detention, right?" she asks, even though they both know that's hardly _the_ question. "You know he's not going to just let you go in the end."

Carmilla says nothing. What is there to say?

"Your mother's dead," Danny says. "Mattie's in the wind, your brother's been replaced by a flash drive, every vampire with a lick of common sense has bailed, and the Baron's most likely plotting how he can kill you and get away with it."

"There a point in there somewhere?" Carmilla asks, suddenly thirsty and wondering where she set her glass of blood.

"All of that," Danny says, "and yet here you are. _Not_ running."

Carmilla considers pointing out the absolute futility of running. How she always somehow manages to find her way back here - maybe not _here,_ specifically, maybe not Silas per se - but _here_ , trapped in her mother's web of guilt and lies and secrets and emotional blackmail

(who says vampire parents aren't just like human ones?)

no matter how hard or how fast she runs.

She thinks about reminding Danny that she tried running - they all did - and she had to flee from angry townspeople

(how very 18th century)

and had to murder some gingerbread loving witch and somehow, some way, she still ended up right back where she started.

Trapped.

Maybe this time it's not her mother holding the key or Laura and the Ginger Squad luring her in and tying her to a chair. And yeah, maybe the yellow tape is no rope or handcuffs or a coffin under the ground.

But if Carmilla has learned anything over her very long life, it's this.

It doesn't matter if the chains are literal or metaphorical.

They're still chains.

Carmilla thinks about all that, thinks about pouring it all out there, about finally saying out loud what she's thought every day since Danny brought her back, since the first time Laura called her a hero

(the first - and strongest - link in the chain)

but then she remembers. She's talking to _Danny_.

And if Carmilla's going to die soon - and she's just as sure as Danny that she is - then she's certainly not passing up one more chance to annoy the hell out of Danny Lawrence.

"Still not a question, Xena."

Danny shakes her head but Carmilla's almost positive she sees a little twitch, just a second's worth of a smile flicker across her face, just a momentary, fleeting acknowledgment that - on some level - Danny enjoys this little dance they do.

Not that she'd ever admit it.

Not that _either_ of them would.

"Why haven't you run?" Danny finally asks. "Why haven't you followed Mattie's leave? Why are you still here when she's _long_ gone?"

Carmilla spots her glass on the table and reaches for it. She's got every intention of taking a drink. A _long_ one, slow and savoring, swishing it around in her mouth before finally swallowing it down, leaving just a single, solitary drop at the corner of her lips.

The kind of drink that would annoy Danny. Would get under her skin and needle her.

That's her intention.

But the words- _Danny's_ words - stick in Carmilla's head. They make her hesitate. They give her pause.

 _Your sister ran._

 _Mattie's in the wind._

 _She's long gone._

It's true. All of it. Carmilla knows that. She knows that Mattie turned tail and fled just as sure as she knows that it was all part of some long range plan - Mattie _always_ has one of those - and not an act of fear

(not _just_ an act of fear)

but even Carmilla can't deny that the simple truth is the simple truth. Mattie left.

Mattie left _her_.

And Carmilla doesn't know quite what to make of _that_.

"My sister and I are two different people, you know," she says, plucking up the glass and staring into it. "I am capable of making my own decisions."

Danny _does_ know that. She knew it when Carmilla chose not to kill her and when she joined them in the fight against her mother and when she came back to campus with Laura and Perry and LaF.

But Danny also knows what every one of those 'decisions' has in common.

Laura.

Not just Laura. _Protecting_ Laura,

And there's that pea again. Burrowing. Deeper and deeper and Danny's sure she's heading in the right direction now, that _this_ is what matters.

"You know something, don't you?" she asks and she realizes - even before the words are out of her mouth, even before she sees the grin spreading across Carmilla's face - that she's stepped in it.

Again.

"I know lots of things, Beanstalk," Carmilla says. "i know what the weather was like the day you were born."

(abnormally, freakishly hot which, if Carmilla were really in the mood, would lend itself to all manner of hell opening up and spitting the ginger out jokes)

"I know who killed JFK."

(and she's not telling)

"I know all three ways you could kill my sister, why the Baron has such a weird fixation on the cleaning-freak ginger, and I know _exactly_ what sound Laura makes when she -"

"I get it," Danny snaps. "You know lots and lots and you're an expert on killing things and having sex with Laura."

(And yes, that last bit hurts to say. A lot.)

"But," Danny says, "what I _meant_ was,you know something about what's happening." She pauses for moment, then corrects herself. "What's _going_ to happen."

Carmilla doesn't speak for a moment and Danny watches as she stares - almost hypnotically- down into the blood swirling in her glass.

She's thinking. Weighing her options. Valuing the chance to annoy Danny just a little more against… well…

"I don't _know_ anything," she says, softly. And Danny gets it, it's all right there, no subtext or subterfuge or secrets.

Carmilla doesn't _know_.

But that doesn't mean she doesn't suspect. Doesn't mean she doesn't have an idea.

Doesn't mean she isn't afraid.

And that? Well _that_ only makes things worse.

Danny sinks down into Laura's desk chair, grateful for once that the tiny girl left the webcam off.

"There's something worse out there," Danny says. "There's something worse coming."

It's not a question and it doesn't require an answer, but Carmilla gives her one anyway.

"There's _always_ something worse out there," she says. "Haven't any of you learned that yet, didn't the whole fiasco with my mother teach any of you anything?"

She slams the glass of wine down on the table, half of it splashing over the top and onto her hand. Normally, she'd lick it off - slowly - just for the reaction she'd get out of Danny.

This time, Carmilla barely even notices it.

"You all thought it was me," she says. "I was the big bad, the murderous evil. And then you found out about my mother. And then the anglerfish. And then my sister and then the board and now…"

Carmilla trails off, letting it all sink in. Letting Danny grapple with the idea of evil being like some twisted Dr. Who version of Russian nesting doll, always bigger on the inside.

"And now, the Baron," Danny says.

Carmilla nods, slowly. The Baron is having her detained - and let's not kid ourselves, she thinks, this detention thing isn't about anyone _but_ her - and that ought to be a sign, a worrisome harbinger of things to come. But even Carmilla doesn't really believe _he's_ the threat.

He's old. Bumbling, A rambling encyclopedia of useless memories and half manufactured stories. He's the guy that _thinks_ he's the bad, that sows his oats and waves his power around for a bit and thinks he's running the show.

What was it that board member called him?

The bishop.

He's powerful and he can do real damage. But he's ultimately limited. He can only work within the lines he's been given.

He's not the King.

Or the Queen.

He's their weapon. The one you never see them wielding until it's too late and you've been run through and you're bleeding to death in some pit while the unspeakable evil slowly destroys everything you care about.

"That's why you're not running, isn't it?" Danny asks and it's like this is the moment the pea has been waiting for as it grows still, pausing to give her a moment's peace. "Because you know something's coming?"

Carmilla laughs and it's cold and harsh and deader than any sound Danny has ever heard.

"Right," she says. "I'm just waiting here for it. Because that's what the _monster_ would do, isn't it? Wait for the _real_ evil to show itself so I can sign up. Join the team. I lost my other master, so I must be in search of a new one, right?"

"That's not what I meant -""

Carmilla cuts her off. "Yeah," she says, "it is. _Of course_ , it is." She turns her back to Danny, unable to look at Laura's 'friend' or that yellow tape or that damn laptop for even one more second.

"Carmilla…"

It's Danny's turn to trail off. She has no idea what to say, or _how_ to say it even if she did. A week ago, she'd have known. A month ago, three or four months…

Before she saw. Before she watched as the monster, the unmitigated, unadulterated evil that was Carmilla, died for them.

Danny's thought a lot about that these last few weeks. Thought about watching Carmilla rush headlong to her own doom. Thought about carrying her apparently lifeless body across the campus to Laura.

She thought about leaving her there. About nudging her, just gently pushing her off that ledge and down into the pit. Carmilla was dead and she had sacrificed herself for love.

What if she _could_ be revived? What if she turned back into the _thing_ Danny always believed she was? It was better this way, Danny thought. It was better that she die a hero than be reborn as the monster.

In the end, obviously, she couldn't do it. She couldn't bring herself to be the one to take away the only chance Laura might have to be with the one she loved.

The one who so clearly loved her back.

And since that day, at night? When that pea is rattling round inside her brain? It's that moment Danny comes back to. The moment when she almost - _almost_ \- killed Carmilla for real.

It's that thought that makes her wonder who the monster really is.

Carmilla's voice pulls Danny back. "I could dive into a thousand pits," Carmilla says. "I could dive into a thousand pits with a thousand swords and kill my mother and her minions a thousand times over. And when the shit hits the fan, I'm _always_ going to be the first place you look."

Danny wishes she could say it's not true - she thinks Carmilla's earned at least that - but she can't. Because she knows the vampire's right.

"You're right," Danny says. "I don't trust you and I never will. Laura said it herself. You're a monster. You're a killer."

Carmilla winces - visibly - unable to hide the hurt hearing those words, _again_ , causes her.

"You're a monster," Danny says, "and yet, you're here. You're a monster and yet you saved everyone." She leans her head on her hands and curses herself because, really, she thought she was over this. She thought she'd come to terms with it, that she'd made her peace

(until some fuckng pea started wiggling around)

and now, clearly, she knows she hasn't.

"You're a monster," Danny says, "and she _loves_ you."

And there it is, at long last. The real reason - the _only_ reason - Danny and Carmilla will never be friends, will never be partners, will never be anything approaching true allies.

"She loves you," Danny says again, softly, like she needs to hear it again, like she needs confirmation, needs someone - anyone - to tell her that yes, it's real.

"She loves what she _wants_ me to be," Carmilla says, She steps towards the tape and then sinks to the floor on her side of it. "She loves some version of me she made up in her head."

What Laura loves, Danny thinks, is the best of you. The best of everyone. For Laura, it's simple.

Everything will work out in the end, good will always triumph over evil and, when it's all said and done, they will all be the best versions of themselves and they'll all get their happy endings.

Danny saw once, for days, what happened when Laura lost that belief. When she wouldn't eat or sleep or speak.

But then Carmilla came back. Danny _brought_ her back. And Laura had every reason in the world to believe again.

It's that belief, Danny realizes, that makes her who she is. It's the belief that makes Laura strong and wonderful and is a huge part of why she and Carmilla both love her so completely.

And it's that belief that makes her blind. And reckless. And crazy.

And will likely get her killed.

"She's too good for you," Danny says. It's a simple statement and yes, it's a judgment, but it's also unequivocally true. And they both know it.

"She's too good for all of us," Carmilla says, staring at the floor. "She's annoyingly good. Painfully optimistic. Aggravatingly, unflinchingly positive."

Danny can't argue.

"And it's going to get her killed someday," Danny says and she doesn't have to look up to know Carmilla's suddenly snapped to attention.

A threat to Laura - no matter how abstract - tends to do that.

And that, Danny finally realizes, is what that pea is. The simple knowledge that there's a threat out there. It's big and it's bad and it's a ticking bomb that doesn't care if you're human, vamp, troll, or some other thing they don't even have a name for.

It'll kill you all, just the same.

Unless you have a hero.

"They're going to come for you in the morning," Danny says. "And you're not going to fight them, are you? You're going to let them take you because if _you_ fight, they fight."

Carmilla nods. "Someone gets hurt. Someone gets dead," she says. "And as much as _some_ people might like that, I prefer to not be dead. Or hurt." She shrugs. "But mostly dead."

Danny smiles because - let's face it - they're past the point of keeping up their mortal enemies routine, at least for tonight.

"Liar," she says. "You may not _want_ to die, but don't forget, I saw you dive into that pit." She looks up, reaching one hand out to tug a piece of the tape out of her way so she can see Carmilla. "I know there's something you'd die for without hesitation. "

Not something. _Someone_.

Carmilla stares back at her, refusing to be the one to look away.

And it's all there, right in those undead eyes. Carmilla doesn't _want_ to go. She doesn't want to lose Laura or the little makeshift home she's made here.

But Laura hasn't left her a choice.

So Danny has to give her one.

"This is what you're going to do," Danny says, ignoring the flicker of anger that flashes through Carmilla's eyes at being told what to do. "You're going to live," Danny says, "as long as you can. You're going to stay, no matter how much it hurts

(and they both have an idea that the Baron will make it hurt a very great deal)

because you know. You know something worse is coming and you want her protected. You want Laura safe."

"Have you _met_ Laura?" Carmilla asks, the tiniest of smiles creeping across her face. "She'll _never_ be safe."

"No, she won't," Danny agrees, "Because that's not who she is. She thinks she change the world - or at least save it - and she'll never stop trying. Not even if it means risking everything. Or _everyone_."

It's a wonderful idea, Danny knows. That none of them are more valuable than the others, that none of them means as much individually as the campus or the world. That if they're willing, if they will put their hearts and bodies and souls on the line, they will win. And they will be protected.

It's beautiful. It's poetic. It's noble and heroic and perfect.

And it's utter bullshit.

If life ran on noble and heroic and principled, there would be no vampires in the first place. There'd be no demonic anglerfish, no evil Silas Board, no Baron, and they wouldn't have to live on a campus where people regard student deaths as if they're as inevitable as a lack of parking and overpriced textbooks.

Principle and nobility and and poetry aren't going to be enough. They're not going to slay the demons or fight off the trolls or dive into the next hell pit with a magical sword.

They're not going to save the day.

But Carmilla might.

Carmilla _would_. For Laura.

"You _are_ a monster and that's all the Baron sees you as," Danny says. "That's the excuse he'll use. That's what he'll blame it on, the reason he'll give for killing you."

Danny can picture it. She can see the moment the Baron drops the news on Laura. She can hear him calling Carmilla a monster and she can see - so damn clearly - the way Laura will break, the way she'll shatter so badly that none of them will ever be able to fix her.

"So," she says, "you're going to reign that in. You're going to hold it back and you're not going to give them any reason to kill you any sooner than they plan."

Carmilla arches an eyebrow. "I'm not?"

"No," Danny says, letting the tape snap back into place and standing up. "You're going to do what you've done best all these years. You're going to survive."

The vampire gets to her feet on her side of the tape, trapped in a sea of yellow but suddenly feeling a bit more free than she has in months.. "And why would I do that?" she aks. "Besides my own obviously selfish sense of self-preservation, I mean."

It takes Danny a long moment to find the words, and an even longer moment to actually get them out. "Because Laura's going to need you," she says. "Because whatever's coming is going to come _for her_ and she's going to need protection, better protection, stronger protection."

That fucking pea just won't stop wiggling.

"I'm her friend," Danny says. "I'm the one that stands beside her, I'm the one that charges into battle with her, I'm… her Xena."

Carmilla holds her tongue

(But it's hard.)

"But protecting her?" Danny asks. She shakes her head and doesn't even notice that the digging, the burrowing, the constant aggravation in her mind is gone. "Protecting her is _your_ job."

"But I'll be a captive," Carmilla reminds her, the words soft, softer than Danny's ever heard her speak. "I doubt the Baron or his master are just going to let me go."

"Then you fight," Danny says. "You fight like _her_ life depends on it. And if they stop you? If they kill you?" she shakes her head, not quite believing what she's about to say. "I'll find you. I'll bring you back."

Saving Carmilla?

That, apparently, is _Danny's_ job.

"Why?" Carmilla asks and her tone is clear - she's really asking. "And don't tell me because you love her and you know it's what she wants. Nobody's _that_ self-sacrificing."

Danny thinks of a brunette blur racing past her, sword held high, and diving into the pit.

Somebody is.

"Because," she says. "That's what _we_ do. That's what makes us better than them."

She turns to go, knowing the sun will be up in a few minutes and the Baron's men will be there.

"Danny…"

 _Danny._ Not Xena or Beanstalk or Gigantor or any of the other dozens of names Carmilla's used for her.

The younger girl shakes her head.

"Just do your job, Carmilla. Save the day. Save the girl." Danny heads to the door and pauses, but doesn't look back. "And when they're hurting you, when they're trying to break you, trying to make you be the _thing_ they think you are, I want you to remember something."

"What?"

"You _are_ a monster," Danny says. "But you're _our_ monster."

That morning, the Baron's men come for Carmilla. She doesn't fight. She doesn't resist. And Laura and LaF and Perry stand by and watch as she's led away.

Danny's not there.

She's in her room. Sleeping peacefully for the first time in months.


End file.
